Belle had been sick of Rumple's crap.
So she left.
Truth was, she didn't have friends in Storybrooke. Just acquaintances. She wished it was harder to leave her father, but the fact was, he'd wanted her to marry Gaston for him. For their country. Not for Belle's sake but for her father's sake.
And truth be told, that's how it always was with him. He was angry with her for loving Rumple because it did not benefit him. Rumple had, admittedly, beat him up. Because Regina had lied and claimed Moe induced Belle to kill herself.
Sure, Rumple had been stupid at times. And sure, he'd had rather over-the-top ways of showing how much he cared. But she'd come to realize, especially after leaving Storybrooke, Rumple was the one who did care.
Her father was no better than Peter Pan. Because all her father wanted was to use her. He never cared what she wanted or thought.
Part of being a strong woman was, sadly, deciding when to dig your heels in and stop being used.
She was sick of people telling her she had to do this or that for the benefit of them, for the benefit of everyone. Everyone except her.
And the truth was, Emma, Ruby, and Cinderella all had her number. She had purchased a new phone before leaving, having faith that they really cared in spite of only sticking around to call her husband "evil".
She'd left Storybrooke a year and a half ago. Not one of them had texted or called her.
Rumple did not have her number. God, she hoped not. She hadn't gotten anyone's number, just gave it to her "friends" then left, a divorced woman. Hitchhiking after leaving town.
Here she was, in Arizona. Wearing overalls. Holding her and Rumple's daughter.
Rumple had never known about her. Belle hadn't discovered she was pregnant until she'd left Storybrooke. Until after she'd left the first two hitchhiker pickups and was on her third.
She'd purchased the test, said, "Damn, I'm having my ex-husband's baby." The man who picked her up had said, "That's okay. I'll take care of you both."
They were heading to California. But they were going extremely slowly. John didn't like to have a permanent job. He liked to work a few months here, a few months there. It was adventurous to be with him. Like she'd always craved. They got to see the sights here and there.
But the problem was…
He didn't love her.
As she held her eight-month-old daughter, Stormi, up in the air and cooed over her, Belle heard her name.
"Belle."
She turned and cocked her head at John, who was mowing the lawn. "What?"
He lifted his hands. "I didn't say anything."
She turned back to her daughter then heard, "Hey, Belle."
She glanced again at John before it hit her like an anvil.
That voice belonged to Rumplestiltskin Gold.